Of Shopping Carts, Lemon tarts, and Broken Hearts
by Unfortunate Fates
Summary: "And so we follow our two favorite protagonists in a boy-meets-girl whirlwind of epic proportions, because the only thing harder than falling in love is staying in love."  Senior year for Finn and Rachel.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Yes, I'm starting another multichapter. What am I thinking? Well, I can at least say it will be quite a while before an update because I have plenty of other stories to catch up on.  
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**Disclaimer: I'll give them back as soon as I'm done, I promise.**

Prologue:

This isn't your average story.

It starts typically enough: A boy and a girl, brought together by fate, finally find each other. There are trials and tribulations, but they make it through the storms. They love each other. It's just the way it is. In your average story they call this 'The End.'

No, this isn't your average story at all. Because after all is said and done, what if nothing could keep the two together? What if fate wasn't strong enough? What if they learned to love people who weren't each other? What if it was never really love?

What if it was?

And so we follow our two favorite protagonists in a boy-meets-girl whirlwind of epic proportions, because the only thing harder than falling in love is staying in love.

They have different problems. For her, it's the decision between following her heart and following her dreams. For him, it's keeping up with her, his sports, his friends, and popularity. They both know that being together won't be easy. Not by a long shot. But they've both made a decision; they've both made a promise.

All they have to do is keep it. And the might be the hardest part of it all.

He's a giant. She's over a foot shorter than he is. His vocabulary is limited, to say the least. Hers is of immense proportions. They're black and white. Sure, opposites attract. But that doesn't mean they always fit. She's Rachel Barbra Berry. He's plain old Finn. She thinks they were brought together by forces much bigger than them. He thinks that they were in the right place at the right time. That doesn't matter, though. Their beliefs are theirs and theirs alone. It's the things they share that matter the most. She tries something new at every restaurant they visit. He always orders the same thing. He can't watch a movie more than once. She lives on Funny Girl. Their interactions are far from normal, but neither of them would ever have it any other way.

Summer, away from the pressures of school and friends and the future, felt like magic to the both of them. Lazy days stretched forever. They realized what it means to love someone with every ion of your being.

They've decided to stay together no matter what happens. They both know how unsuccessful they are at being apart (even if their success rate is lower together). It's the first day of senior year, and everything is about to change for better or for worse.

We'll follow them through daily struggles and victories, no matter how small, and learn more about them as they learn about themselves. We'll be along for the ride.

Will you join us?

**Reviews are lovely :)**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here it is. Chapter One. It's a really, really different style than I'm used to writing, but I decided to try a less typical route for this story. I'd love to hear opinions, so please review and enjoy this chapter!**

One thing Rachel will never tell Finn is that she very nearly skipped the first day of her senior year by pretending to be sick (after looking up and practicing three basic symptoms of the common cold in her gold-framed mirror) because she was absolutely and completely terrified. She's terrified of losing everything she's worked to gain. On the last day of August she'd been told by Blaine that she's a perfectly constructed paradox; this moment is proving him right in every way she wishes it wouldn't. It makes her wonder if her inner strength isn't strength at all, but rather a defense mechanism to be used when absolutely nothing is in her favor, a brittle shell that repels hatred but cracks when someone, anyone, shows an inkling of compassion towards the girl that claims to this day she never needed any.

She never got the chance to use her 'slightly flushed' expression, though, because at the precise moment she reaches for the to-this-day-unopened cherry red blush (a serious mistake on her part caused by an awful lapse of judgment), her dad walks in.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he says, far too excited for a morning as bleak as this. Her window is shuttered closed, but opening it would do little other than suck the already somewhat cool air from the room, making it as frigid as her mood at the moment. She scowls internally, but uses smile number fourteen (I'm happy, really!) and tries to prevent her disappointment from showing in the set of her mouth. It's excellent practice for her future career in theater, but even better practice for television or cinema, where the most minute of expressions has to mean something. It's a back up plan, because even if Broadway works out, she'll want to be able to expand her horizons in time.

"Good morning, dad," she replies with gusto, ignoring the hammering of her heart and the feeling of dread welling up in the pit of her stomach. She can't turn back now.

"Are you excited for your first day?" He's wearing a plaid shirt with a plaid tie, but the patterns aren't similar enough to match exactly. She feels a sudden rush of warmth towards her father because just seeing his top half and the way there always seems to be something skewed about him makes her nostalgic for days when she didn't know how cruel the world can be. It makes her miss her childhood with an ache so strong it seems tangible.

Straightening, she brushes it off with a shake of her shoulders. She doesn't need to think about her past right now. This is the first step towards the future.

"Yeah, dad. I'm really excited." And even if the words are hollow, they sound real and full and enthusiastic, and it's good enough for her. She doesn't need reality to propel her forward when a much, much kinder world can do the same job just as well.

…

When they first started dating, she thought her heart would burst from feeling so _much_. She loved him with everything she was capable of, wrapping up her heart in a neat little package and thrusting it at him eagerly, complete with a bow and a card (_No Returns_). Every time she saw him was like the first; he shone like a Greek god of sorts, doing no wrong in that awkward, bumbling way of his. Now she's sure that she saw him that way because of the stars in her eyes.

The second time they started dating, she was more careful, but barely. This heart was wrapped a tad more sloppily, missing a bow, and the card was typed rather than painstakingly handwritten (_To Finn, Love Rachel_). It was sent via Express Mail, too important to wait more than 2-3 business days, but not important enough to hand deliver. Every time she looked at him was different. Some days she'd see his warm, brown eyes, others she'd see his angular jaw and the way it was always set surely, but never surely _enough_. He was constantly changing, an enigma of sorts. Now, she swears she loved him then for the mystery he could have been rather than the painfully flawed yet somehow still perfect boy he was.

The third time they started dating, she'd learned a thing or two. Her heart wasn't wrapped or delivered, it was shared the way that children will share their toys; they give away to say they did, but their sharp eyes never leave the object, following every move, eager to snatch it back when the opportunity arises. When she looked at him, the world didn't stop. He didn't glow or sparkle or change like a prince out of a fairytale. This Finn was real and rough around the edges. He wore shirts that didn't fit quite right and always put too much salt on his food, but those qualities made her see him in a different light. Every day she learned a little bit more about who he is, and she stepped aside a bit.

She thinks that the day she agreed to put her dreams on hold for a year (the day she put the small town boy ahead of the big city) was the day she truly learned how to love.

…

Her grip on the steering wheel is far too tight, turning her knuckles white, but she thinks that if she really wanted to she could crush it between her hands. She's numb. Her muscles aren't responding correctly. And the worst part of it all is that she's an actress. Everyone has bad days; an actress just never shows it. She hides behind smiles that border on psychotic because the alternative shows weakness that she can't afford to let through. Once one things slips through the cracks she knows her composure will break like a dam, powerless against the force inside that's constantly pressing, waiting for an opportunity to escape.

Somehow she makes it through the traffic without crashing or mortally injuring herself in some way and the white walls of McKinley are staring her down. In this moment she feels so…insignificant (and she can safely say it's the first time she's ever felt this way). She should be thrilled to make her way to her locker, to find Finn and let her hand fit perfectly into his and beam up at him when he tells her he missed her even though it's only been two days.

Instead, she's feeling anxious and hesitant about taking the first step, both towards the school and (eventually) away from it.

She shivers as she pushes the door open on autopilot, adjusting her sweater carefully and slowly even as a shudder wracks her body. It's partly induced by the icy wind that blows across her neck (why didn't she wear a scarf?) and partly due to the feeling that today won't be a good day rooted deep inside of her. She's being silly, she tells herself. She can do this. She hates that she has to convince herself of things, but it's so much better than the alternative that her hatred is always short-lived.

Taking a breath that drags her back to that moment during every competition before she opens her mouth and sings, she lets go of the hatred and the anxiety and pushes open the wide double-door to McKinley's hallways. As she passes between a goth and jock, she marvels at how little things have changed, yet how different it all is, and comes to the conclusion that maybe the school isn't different at all (and maybe it never has been). There will always be the faceless, nameless stereotypes she knows walking through these empty rooms, whether it be now or in ten years. Maybe it'll still be this way in fifty years, or a hundred. Maybe it'll never change. Maybe the only thing changing will be _her_.

She lets the thought fill her with false confidence the way she has for years, reveling in the way a simple phrase can bring a skip to her step in the same way an athlete feels invigorated after exercise or a food critic is in heaven after just a bite of chocolate cake. She lets the lie consume her completely and smiles an honest smile for the first time all day. Yes, she's a perfectly constructed paradox, but not by choice; she's never learned the meaning of _normal_ or _average_ and now that she's becoming a woman, she doesn't think having those words in her vocabulary would've changed much after all.

…

His head sticks up above the crowd, a giant in a sea of dwarves, and when she sees him she grins out of instinct, her heart already beating faster and her eyes blinking a bit spastically as she shoulders her way through the ever annoying crowd of students who, for some reason, never happen to be carrying bags of any sort. When she finally reaches him she pokes him in the arm, feeling like a little girl trying to get her father's attention. When he looks down his eyes light up, and she thinks that that will never get old, that recognition that comes with warmth all directed towards her. She's always dreamed of being on stage, of projecting emotions that aren't really hers to people who can never reciprocate.

Being with Finn is like a breath of fresh air, filling her to the core with joy and purity and an overall sense of belonging and wanting something that wants you back. It's foreign to her, yet she feels like she's been doing it her entire life. She somehow knows that she and Finn fit without truly comprehending the where or why or how and she's always been like that, missing the little things in favor of the big ones. It's just another way she's chosen to set herself apart from the masses that she's always yearned to be a part of, yet isolated her entire life because a part of her _knew_ she was destined for more than life as a nameless, faceless blur; she's destined for things much bigger than shopping trips and girls' nights and sitting with the popular people that no one truly likes because she's Rachel Barbra Berry and the whole world will know her name one day.

(Knowing that makes it easier to ignore the taunts and slushies thrown her way, but no matter how many times she tells herself she's a star, there will always be five nameless, faceless losers telling her she's worthless).

…

She's standing in the corner, going through vocal warm-ups with Finn because he's the only one who will humor her when Mr. Schuester walks in, passing out sheet music tiredly yet somehow still enthusiastically in that optimistic way of his. When she takes a soprano part, the smooth paper lies against her fingers like a promise. She stands, third chair, first riser, looking around, and it's as if they're still sophomores, still lost, still singing horrible disco because they had no idea that they were doing and they just wanted to _belong somewhere, just once_, and she sees a group of kids who just might be growing up.

There have been no new additions from lower classes (being a social outcast is contagious, apparently) and she briefly wonders what will happen when they graduate and she leaves this town that was never big enough for her yet also exactly what she needed to find herself. She wonders if in three or four years this will still be the choir room and if students will still sing from their hearts and if they'll form a family so tightly knit that all of the dating will feel incestuous, somehow, yet dating outside of the group will feel like betrayal of the worst kind.

They run through the song, Rachel and Kurt and Mercedes and Tina hitting the sugary notes above the rest, but for the first time Rachel doesn't feel accomplished when she's the most in tune of the four; she just feels a twinge in her chest that she's sure has nothing to do with her heart (she's sure, of course she's sure, of course-) because her classmates are complaining about senioritis and she finally realizes why she didn't want to come to school this morning.

It doesn't matter how much hatred permeates the air, McKinley will always be the first place she was ever truly accepted. Some days she despises the fact that it had to be a place like this, where people are hurt and abused and thrown down again and again on a daily basis. On days like today, she despises the fact that she'll ever have to let it go.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks so much to anyone who's reviewed this story so far! All of your kind words have been so inspiring and it's amazing to know that people are enjoying this story. Again, I'm pretty far out of my comfort zone, so hopefully this chapter is what you expected. :) Enjoy and don't forget to leave a review!**

Finn will come to remember that first week of school as a blur of new classes with old faces and the scent of sanitizing supplies that always somehow manages to permeate the air in those hallways. The main thing he'll remember, though, is Rachel. She was everywhere. In the texts she sent between classes (but never during; she has a permanent record to keep clean), in the hastily folded notes he'd find in his pockets, in the flesh whenever he walked out to lunch and saw her waiting, the little sun there was shining directly onto her. He'll always remember this feeling of joy that she's finally _his_.

Today is Saturday and the sun has finally, finally come out, illuminating the clouds in the same way a smile shines on her face when his hand envelops hers. He rolls over in bed, glancing at the clock. The numbers blare 6:50 far too cheerfully for such an hour and he's always been like this, sleeping habits strangely impressionable after just a small amount of scheduled time. After he pulled an all-nighter with Puck last year, rotting their teeth with candy and Redbull and playing video games until their eyes stayed open of their own accord, he couldn't fall asleep for another 48 hours (which resulted in calling Rachel). He was delirious enough that it resembled a drunk-dial, the only exception being his lack of alcohol, but not delirious enough to be surprised when she gently turned him down.

And now he knows that for the rest of the year he'll never be able to wake up past seven without some serious repercussions, but somehow he doesn't care, because as long as he can wake up and look forward to the day it ceases to matter. He's okay with jolting awake at three in the morning to his cell phone blaring as long as he gets to hear her slightly distorted laughter on the other end, bright and crackling like confetti against the slippery ink black plane of night.

…

A note attached to his bedroom door:

Finn,

Dad and Carole are still at the conference for my dad's car exhibit (they should be back by three) and I spent the night at Rachel's with Mercedes. I know you probably forgot, so I'm letting you know before you light the house on fire in some form of blind panic at being home alone. I left a sandwich in the fridge for your lunch; please stay away from anything processed while I'm gone. I should be back by one, so if you feel like trying to bake or something equally ridiculous, please just wait for proper supervision.

I was serious about lighting the house on fire,

Kurt.

…

"Still alive?"

"I'm not _that_ accident prone."

"You broke a lamp from thirty feet away by tripping over a cord that was taped to the floor. Forgive me for being the slightest bit concerned."

"That was definitely not my fault."

"Of course not." A pause as the smaller boy hangs his keys on the custom key chain he made himself. "Rachel got a haircut."

"Cool."

"It's a bob. Honestly, neither of us thought it would work at all. I mean the style just seemed like it would be awkward for her face shape and her hair has a strange curl to it. It should've ended up a disaster."

"Did it?"

"No. Though I can't honestly say I'm surprised."

…

It's Sunday morning and the air is dry with a sense of something – everything - coming to a close. He kicks up a leaf, watching as it crumbles to dust beneath his shoe, and marvels at how easy it is to destroy during the fall.

She's talking at him the way she always does, and it really doesn't matter what she's saying. He just lets her voice flow over him like champagne, bubbling and light and liquid as he stands and does his part, an anchor holding them all together. "Do you think I'll get the solo?" she asks and he feels the need to roll his eyes at her ("Of course you'll get it, you're amazing, of course-) because that's just the way she is. She's the most confident person he knows but she's always needing little reassurances that she's as beautiful as she thinks she is.

As she kneels daintily to pick a dandelion and tells him that _I never understood why people call them weeds. They're just as beautiful as any other flower_ and she lifts it to her lips and releases a summery breath he comes to the realization that every time he's ever told her she's beautiful has been absolutely and positively truthful.

…

The last time Finn cried in front of someone else was when he thought he was going to be a father.

The time he cried the hardest was when he found out he wasn't.

He tried to stop and be strong, be brave, be bold, but the tears kept coming in streams and the saying 'cry me a river' was starting to make a whole lot more sense.

The last time Finn cried alone in his room was when Rachel had finally told him that no, they wouldn't last, and he'd had a migraine and was in one of those moods where spilled milk was the end of the world.

That was the day he realized that his world spun around this tiny girl who didn't need to be shout to be heard, but did it anyways (_it's the drama that matters Finn, everything else is insignificant if you can make people want to watch you. Then the bad things become exciting and the good things become victories.) _And this girl, who's the heroine in the movie of her life, is keeping him within reach like a pet owner with a leash. The funny thing is, it only bothers him until he tries to run away.

…

Things are different in his life after Rachel finally, truly decides to stay in it. When he grabs a snack for the big game, he takes an apple rather than the usual chips, hearing her voice in his mind constantly (as if the usual chatter isn't enough). This, of course, bothers Kurt to no end.

"Oh, so you'll listen to the midget regarding your nutritional health but not your own step-brother?"

"Brother," corrects Finn absently as he takes a bite of the apple, rich and sweet and juicy and _why did he never think of this before_? "And she's my girlfriend. I have to listen to her."

"I never thought I'd see the day Rachel Berry wrapped someone around her little finger. I bet if I looked out the window I'd see the bacon I made this morning against my better judgment sprouting wings."

Finn just shrugs, taking another bite of the apple as he hops off of their tattered, navy couch. The fabric gives when he pushes against it and he can feel where it's worn in with memories of a lonely boy on sleepless nights and an angry crowd ("That ref's an idiot!) and, more recently, a socially inept boy with an equally tactless girl somehow, _somehow_ completing each other as they watched Funny Girl for the third time in as many days.

One thing Finn will never tell anyone is that on time number four, he started singing along. Don't Rain on my Parade was stuck in his head for days, the same way it was after a competition a long time ago when the New Directions were actually new and what they lacked in experience they made up for in enthusiasm. When, if he listened hard enough, he could hear twelve phantom voices cheering and shouting even in the blank white emptiness of his bedroom. He'd never heard silence quite so loud.

…

It's Monday morning and the gray mist is out, and somehow tears are falling from clouds that are pristinely white, and no, none of it makes sense but that's because it doesn't _have_ to. Nothing in his life has made sense lately, what with being thrown together with all of these people he never thought he'd know and then finding that he _loves _them, each and every one of them, and he doesn't know how because he's only talked to Tina like four times. She doesn't say much. But he loves her and everybody else in their dysfunctional family. He doesn't get it. But not understanding has never stopped him from feeling before.

…

Monday was a hard day. He had a math test and a solo in Glee and a hardcore football practice and all of it started to run together after a while of doing homework, smudging like ink left in the rain. All he knows is that it was exhausting.

That night, his dream is unlike any he's ever had before. It's terrifying and exhilarating at the same time and the second he wakes up he writes down every detail, every one, and when he feels it slipping he bangs his fist against his desk in frustration, pen breaking and spewing ink all over the page that was perfect just moments before.

That night, he dreams of a girl with big brown eyes and brown hair and a tiny stature. It's relatively normal, as far as dreams go, taking place in a nondescript room with a couch and a fireplace. The script isn't anything he's never heard before. The girl puts her hands on her hips and begins a monologue about how she _has_ to go to the dance Saturday, everyone will be there, and don't they get that she has a reputation to uphold, not just for herself but for every underappreciated outcast she represents?

His world tilts on its axis when a middle-aged Rachel turns to him and says _she sounds just like you, all concerned about her image. It's adorable_ and he thinks that if he waits too long to answer he'll slip and lose his already tenuous grip on this reality. He tells her _well look at her, she's the spitting image of your high school self_ and she laughs buoyantly; he knows that he would float away if it weren't for her presence anchoring him down.

By Wednesday the dream is a memory, hazy like fog on a summer day but warm and sticky like the humidity surrounding it. Ever since he saw a possible future, a chance, he hasn't been able to get the phantom girl out of his mind, telling him that _I need at least thirty dollars for a dress, maybe even fifty because I did the math and I'm sure the cheerleader budget will be around a hundred. I need to look at least semi-decent for my performance, that solo won't sing itself you know._

He knows. Oh, how he knows.

And even though he no longer has any recollection of it being Rachel on that couch, and the girl's face is starting to blur, he's starting to realize that what he and Rachel have right this moment won't last. All he can do is hope that something even better comes along in time, and that one day he'll get to meet a girl who's half Rachel, half Finn, and all voice. Because out of all the things he could've remembered about that dream, it's the way she said _Dad_ that will follow him forever.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello again lovely readers :) Here's another chapter for your enjoyment! Thanks so, so much to whoever dropped a line, even to say they were still reading and looking forward to the next chapter. I'd love to hear from you! I promise, the title will come into play eventually, but a few things have to happen first. I really hope you enjoy this chapter, so without further ado, I present Chapter 3!**

Some people say it's hard to make a new friend. It takes time. You need to have things in common and understand each other and be tolerant. The first few one-on-one experiences can be a bit strange or awkward or even downright catastrophic.

The thing is, making a new friend can be simple. _Hi, my name is Rachel. What's yours?_

It can also be extremely difficult. _Hi, I'm Rachel Berry, future Broadway star. You were a bit flat on that bridge if you didn't notice, maybe bring it up a bit? I have perfect pitch, by the way, I have since I was born. What's your name?_

Even so, no matter what the scenario, it's far, far easier to make a new friend than to try to make an old one.

…

When she sees Quinn Fabray talking to a tall boy in the hallway, it feels like an out of body experience, because there's no way she's trying to steal him again. Not after everything they've been through. And when a tear slips down her perfect cheek (Quinn's always been a pretty crier, always) Rachel can feel her heart nearly breaking, cracking into a million pieces, but she won't let it fall apart. She can't assume. She knows what assuming does.

She could end it right now if she wanted to. She could go up and tap him on the shoulder and smile and maybe things would have turned out differently. But just as she's taking the first step towards them Quinn's laughing and smiling and saying _thanks so much_ with that annoying hair flip she's perfected so well, leaving a slightly dazed Finn behind. Rachel can tell that the harpy means business, but Quinn must be forgetting that Rachel isn't all forgiveness and kindness and animal sweaters; if this means war, she'll fight.

Resolutely, she turns back the way she came, the half-inch heels of her shoes like pops of gunfire against the linoleum floor. Students turn, expecting a teacher, but she doesn't notice their inquisitive glances, looking for something just past her. She's just thinking about every time she's ever cried in front of Finn, her face crumpling as she turned away, eyes firmly shut and mouth curled into a grimace.

It was never nearly as tragically beautiful as the girl she's prepared to take down. But Rachel has one thing Quinn doesn't: Finn. She just hopes he'll be enough.

…

She debates calling him, going back and forth a million times in the cramped space of her soundproofed room. She yells because it feels good to and stomps her foot because she can. After about eighty-six minutes and fourteen seconds (she isn't counting, she swears) she finally presses the green 'call' button quickly. As she lifts the phone to her ear, her heart starts to race.

"Hey, Rach," he tells her innocently; she can tell he's smiling into the phone. It's easy to imagine that he's in his room now, too, balancing the cell between his ear and shoulder while he throws clothing into the hamper. It's comforting.

"Hi," she starts, uncharacteristically nervous. If any time would warrant stage fright, though, it would be now. Her heart is beating far too loudly and her voice sounds shrill to her. "I saw you talking to Quinn today."

The pause is too long, too pregnant and full and bursting with implications. "…Oh."

"What were you talking about?" Again her voice is too fake, too loud. She winces at the sound, which does nothing to steady her fraying nerves.

"Nothing important. Just catching up, I guess."

"Since when do you need to catch up with your ex-girlfriend? You see each other every day in Glee. Need I remind you that she broke your heart, Finn?" She rushes on before she can be accused of hypocrisy. "She manipulated you!"

"It wasn't anything, I swear! She just asked how it was going and then she said that she hates Puck and started crying so I told her not to worry about it, Puck's a loser anyways and she left."

He's getting defensive; she can hear a slight edge to his normally relaxed drawl, and for some reason she hates that he has to feel defensive. If he's as innocent as he says he is he shouldn't have to hide things. Her anger is bubbling up and she knows that trying to push it down will be of no use. Most people say anger is like seeing red, tasting red, feeling red, but all Rachel feels is deep, dark gray verging on black that's threatening to take over.

"Well excuse me for being scared! The last time I saw you two talking like that she kissed you and you helped her cheat on Sam, who's a much better guy than she deserves, by the way. I just feel like we worked so hard to finally be together and I don't want it all to get ruined again." She's horrified to hear a catch in her voice.

"Rach, I swear it was nothing. I guess I just felt kinda sorry for her, she's in a rough spot."

"Rough spot? She's one of the most popular girls in school-"

"She used to be. Now she's just trying to get back to where she was. At least try to see her side for a second." His voice is placating, a sound that matches hands held up in surrender and the losing side of an argument and dying kittens that won't come out of trees. "She was on top of the world and then everything got destroyed in one night. Don't you think you'd be a little off?"

She hates him for being right. "…I guess I would be," she admits, "but I wouldn't go and talk to my ex boyfriend about it."

The pause here is tense, angry, and once again she's starting to see black, darkness closing in. Who does he think he is? Spewing virtuous lines and then turning his back on all of it? She waits for him to speak.

"Who else is gonna listen to her?"

The answer resonates in her mind, clear as the glass wall she's trying to hide behind, but she refuses to give in.

"I don't know, Finn. Listen, I have to go. Dinner's ready," she tells him, even though she hasn't even started it.

"So are we cool?" he asks hesitantly, and she might just detect some hopefulness.

She has to smile at his word choice. "Yeah," she decides, "we're cool."

…

She gets the solo. It's thrilling, really, having a solo in the first group number of the year. She pretends not to see the thinly veiled looks of contempt heading her way, instead shutting her eyes as she sings.

Most musicians close their eyes because of the need to connect with their emotions, but Rachel doesn't need to do that. She cries every time she sings a solo because of how well she connects. No, Rachel closes her eyes because of moments like this, moments in which she desperately needs to be alone.

And if she can't be alone physically, she'll try her hardest to isolate herself mentally. She has plenty of practice.

…

On the following Monday, Rachel is feeling emotionally drained. Her relationship has been tenuous at best, a string that's fraying at the ends is the only thing holding them together. But maybe this is how it's always been between them.

They've never had a truly stable stretch of time where she could say _we're never breaking up._ They've always been volatile, a roller coaster of sorts, and it's kept them exciting. Of course, she doesn't know if exciting is what deems a relationship in working order, but she's beyond trying to dissect every sentence spilling from his lips (mostly).

She's starting to accept that it will never, never be easy between the two of them. It's easier to accept it when she knows how incredible life is together. Rachel never backs down from a challenge and she's proud of who she is. Maybe it's in her blood; maybe it isn't. But love conquers all, right?

She shakes her head firmly, willing the answer to become what she needs it to.

Right.

…

"Dad? Daddy? I'm home!" she calls in a voice she knows will easily cut through the house. Closing the door behind her, she's already setting her bag down when she hears a muffled "Hi, honey!"

She can hear her parents coming down the stairs before she sees them, dress shoes from work clacking loudly against the lacquered wood and thundering through the rest of the Berry estate. Having two fathers, both with prestigious occupations, can be a recipe for loneliness. Fortunately, Rachel is good with solitude.

They bustle around the house with a precision only familiarity can create, nudging shoulders as they grab something or other from a key rack or a manila envelope with rushed _how was your days _and _we'll be back in a jiffs_.

She replies with a simple smile (number 11: I love you – reserved for family) as they burst through the door, the sound of it closing heavy breaking the stillness. Humming quietly, she makes her way to her room.

After the door is shut behind her (it's habit, really) she relaxes, turning on the speakers in the far corner of the room, opposite her elliptical. She then brings her laptop to her bed, brushes off a few stuffed animals, and flips it open. It's a routine that's comfortable.

She looks up the extra credit page for history, computer whirring softly and emitting a bit of warmth. Before it's finished loading, she hears a soft ping that tells her an instant message has been sent to her.

Curiously, she closes the page, assignment all but forgotten.

**Finnessa: Hey, Puck changed my username and I don't know how to fix it. Help?**

She smiles at the screen, mood brightening instantly. She can hear his voice narrating in that awkward, bumbling way of his and misses him irrationally (didn't she just see him?).

**RachelBerry: It should be under settings.**

She pauses for two minutes, then follows up with: **Have you fixed it?**

**Finnessa: No…wheres settings?**

**RachelBerry: It's in the top-right corner. How did he even get access to your account in the first place?**

**FinnHudson: Found it! Thnx. And he guessed my password.**

**RachelBerry: Wow. I never pegged Noah as the intuitive type. What was it?**

When he doesn't answer within a couple of minutes, she begins to panic. Scrolling back through the conversation his responses had seemed perfectly fine (but she knows how easy it is to lie when you aren't face to face). She's perfectly aware of how tactless she can be, though, so she tries to brainstorm different ways to backtrack. Once she finally decides on a simple _nevermind_ a soft beep startles her.

**FinnHudson: Um…it's kinda weird.**

**RachelBerry: How so?**She types before she chickens out. Her heart is pounding erratically like rain on a rooftop, sharp and quick and unexpected, and for one fleeting moment she's scared of what she'll hear.

**FinnHudson: It's kind of your name…**

She can't help it. She busts out laughing, mainly at herself, he sound filling the room like the relief in her veins. To think she was actually scared…

**RachelBerry: And you called me a stalker!**

**FinnHudson: Yeah, about that, sorry?**

**RachelBerry: I can't say I honestly mind. Well, I need to get back to my schedule; I should've started homework for math three and a half minutes ago. Call me tonight?**

**FinnHudson: Of course :)**

**RachelBerry: Bye!**

Sighing, she switches the computer off and pulls out a calculus book. She's actually behind by about an hour, but she wasn't about to cut into their after school Dairy Queen run.

He's changing her. It should be frightening, terrifying really, because Rachel doesn't change. She's a constant in everyone's life: the slightly deranged yet completely determined girl with a big voice and bigger dreams. She's a creature of habit.

But maybe spontaneity isn't so bad every once in a while. (She reminds herself of this more and more often lately, until staying on schedule becomes an act of spontaneity in itself).

…

The last signs of summer are slowly starting to ebb away, leaving cold winds and dry air. On Friday, though, she walks outside to utter bliss in the form of warmth. The breeze is gentle and the sunlight is spilling across her shoulders, and she stands for a moment in the parking lot trying to soak it all in as if the light is a limited edition collectible. As if she can take a bucket and catch drops of it as they sprinkle down. As if one day she could open a chest and find this day preserved there, perfect and beautiful and timeless in that way she never could achieve.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: I can't apologize enough for the delay on this chapter. No, it wasn't _that_ long in the scheme of things, but I still feel immensely relived to finally post this. I was on vacation last week and just got back, which explains the time :) I realized that in my fics it's a running gag that Rachel took therapy classes over the summer. I can just imagine her taking notes with her little glasses...on a more related note, I just realized I haven't put any disclaimers in my chapters. Whoops. Anyways, without further ado, I present to you: Chapter 4!  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: Glee isn't mine**

Finn has always been a simple kind of guy. He likes to make toast for breakfast every morning and he owns two pairs of shoes, both sensible and comfortable. He cares about popularity, but who doesn't? If you take out the school part of high school, you get high, which is where everyone wants to be on the social ladder, right? Not that he's put all that much though into it. At least, not recently. Because popularity used to be everything. Now…he doesn't know what anything means anymore.

When he dreams, it's not about football or parties or impersonal slaps on the back that somehow tell him he belongs. He dreams about one thing and one thing only. She fills him with something that's real. It isn't superficial; it won't deteriorate after high school and it won't cease to matter in a few years' time.

When he's with Rachel, he doesn't feel so simple anymore.

…

Fall begins in earnest that week, leaves falling from the trees and clouds covering the sun like a blanket. There's a slight breeze that wasn't there yesterday, and he mutters under his breath as he feels an icicle disguised as a raindrop hit his exposed arm. He's walking home from the gym, wearing a thin cotton t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, shivering as he regrets his idea of running to the gym for extra cardio. He'd do a lot to have his car here right now.

"Finn!" he hears through the mist, "Need a ride?"

He turns gratefully towards the small silver Mercedes, driver already pulling over to the curb. "Thanks, man. I didn't think it would start raining on me."

"It's no trouble," replies Blaine, smiling. "I was actually heading to your house anyways, Kurt and I were going to watch a movie tonight." A small smile appears when Kurt's name is mentioned, flickering into a friendly grin so quickly Finn can't decide if he imagined it or not.

"Cool," says Finn, for lack of a better response. It hasn't been easy adjusting to the fact that he has a brother, and it's been even harder adjusting to having a little brother who's dating someone all of a sudden.

He almost starts to awkwardly attempt talking about Kurt's heart and how it needs to stay intact, but manages to stop himself just in time. He'll ask Rachel what to say tonight. Finn's really never been good with words, despite Rachel's protests (_of course you're good with words, remember your speech at Sectionals? And after Nationals last year? You inspire people, Finn. You just underestimate yourself sometimes)_. He only agrees to humor her.

After a moment of heavy silence, the smaller boy reaches out to turn on the radio, moving the dial precisely to a rock station Finn listens to so often the move seems calculated. He then begins humming along to _Sweet Child of Mine_ in a distracted way that tells Finn he's done it countless times before. Finn taps a little on the window and Blaine moves from humming to harmonizing, the music far more comfortable than the conversation full of words they could only grasp for.

They arrive at the house within five minutes, Finn mumbling another _thank you_ and Blaine replying with another _No problem, happy to help_ in that infuriating, perfectly collected manner of his. By the time they're both inside it's pouring out, the rain coming down in sheets that seem sharp somehow, like glass, and the wind is biting, whipping, crashing into the windows. The first true thunderstorm of the year is in full swing.

He shivers again, making for the stairs. As he pads across the carpet into his bedroom, he hears _Finn! Dinner!_

"Great," he mutters sarcastically, "I'll be down in a minute."

And then, just to spite the world, he takes a twenty-minute shower. By the time he's done, though, the water's freezing, and he's pretty much back to square one. He swears under his breath when he steps out of the shower, cold air hitting him like a wall.

"Finn! Come on! Dinner!" This time it's Burt's gruff voice echoing through the halls.

In response, he kicks a lamp. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea to break his only source of light, but an angry knee-jerk reaction is a knee-jerk reaction, especially in someone with the coordination of…Finn.

His mom tries again, voice low and deadly. "Finn Hudson, if you're behind isn't in that chair in _one minute_-"

"Coming!" he calls down the hall with a sigh. His hair drips as he finally enters the dining room, ten minutes later, mood no lighter than it had been before. It doesn't help to see the shocked (and taken aback in his mother's case) expressions at his appearance. He just proceeds to stab a piece of chicken as if it's the source of all of his troubles.

"So, did you guys see the Buckeyes game last night?" attempts Blaine, but it's futile. Finn stares out the window moodily, wondering how his day had managed to tank so spectacularly in the course of under an hour.

…

"So how was your day?" she chirps across the line, voice slightly distorted by the connection.

"Crappy," he replies simply, "Yours?"

"What happened?" she asks, interest piqued, and of course she can't just move on from it. She _has_ to know. He feels his irritation growing, an ugly thing that rises up as some part of him tries desperately to shove it back down.

"I just got caught in the storm and dinner was a mess and I don't really want to talk about it." His tone is curt and harsh but he can't really bring himself to care.

"You'll feel better if you do. Did any of the events connect to events in your past? In my summer therapy training sessions they told us that a lot of patients with traumatic pasts-"

He cuts her off smoothly in a move that's taken months to perfect. "Rachel, I _really_ don't want to talk about it. How was your day?"

"Well, now that you ask…" and within seconds she's off, telling him about her daily coffee stop and how she shuffled her i-Pod when she ran this morning. Every snippet adds to a wall of _normal_ and pretty soon he can leave his worries behind for just a moment.

They plan their next date. And the next one. And the next one. Before he knows it it's 1 A.M. and with a startled squeak she tells him she's way off schedule.

"I really have to go if I want to wake up with any semblance of normalcy in the morning."

"Good night," he says, using a skill Rachel's taught him well. He doesn't need to struggle with every word to get the big picture.

"Good night, Finn." She yawns hugely and he clicks _end_, setting the phone gingerly on the nightstand beside his bed. Tomorrow he and Rachel will double date with Kurt and Blaine officially. They do it all the time, really, but it's always been casual. Finn's a bit nervous (hello, Rachel-and-Blaine-drunk-at-a-party-flashback), but things have changed since then.

He falls asleep with a faint smile on his face.

…

Sometimes memories hit him hard. They tend to do that when a split-second decision has the potential to change a life. He'll start playing Call of Duty and remember a time three years ago when he and Puck stayed up all night shooting each other and laughing and rotting their teeth with soda. A time when everything made sense in the world. A time when a lie that big never would've crossed any of their minds.

But Quinn was selfish. And Puck was selfish. And Rachel was selfish. And Finn was beyond denial at that point. Everything was slipping far too fast for him to comprehend.

But on those days, when the past comes back with a vengeance and steals his breath, it feels like it's slipping all over again, slick and fluid and _why can't he just hold on_?

Eventually he'll forgive and forget (forget, forget the way her eyes widened to twice their size when he found out the truth, forget the way his skin felt under his fist, forget the way her lips looked when they were really forbidden). Eventually he'll move on.

Now, though, it hurts.

He just needs time.

…

"Come on, Finn, we're going to be late. Do you really want to leave Blaine and Rachel alone?" Finn pulls on a jacket hurriedly while hopping around, one shoe on and one shoe off, the perfect picture of the busy man he wishes he could've known his father to be.

"Coming, coming. Jeez, you're so pushy. We're only like a minute late, anyways."

The shrill reply comes from out the door and Finn feels a biting breeze fly through it. "We're a minute late and we haven't even left! Come on, come on."

Finally, he manages to get the shoe to fit properly and they're out the door, Kurt taking the driver's seat because his car is way, way nicer than Finn's and Kurt's a better driver anyways. (It's hard not to remember the Mailman Incident).

They move through the rain smoothly, Kurt cutting off cars easily to shave some time off of their trip. Finn just leans back in his seat, listening to the way the rain snaps against the hood of the car, and revels in the silence.

"We're here," says his brother impatiently, "Finally."

Finn just mumbles an agreement and hops out of the passenger side, managing to hit his head on the top of the doorframe. It's a pretty typical thing for him, so he tries to shrug it off. He has two scars just at his hairline from occasions such as this.

"Graceful," comments Kurt offhandedly as they step into the small restaurant.

"Welcome to Breadstix, how many in your party?" asks a far too peppy blonde employee in a skirt that's two inches too short, already starting to grab menus.

"We're meeting them here, actually. It should be under Hummel."

"Right this way," she says with a blinding grin. He squashes the impulse to cover his eyes. He should be used to this kind of smile, the kind that borders on psychotic yet is clearly set to charm. It's just a little different seeing it on someone else.

"Hey!" says Blaine, and there's that look again, the one that disappears like hot breath on a window whenever Kurt is around. It's kind of endearing, if a little strange.

Finn responds with a friendly greeting and takes his spot next to Rachel, grabbing her hand instinctually. She squeezes back. "How was your day?"

He shrugs. "Boring. I listened to my i-Pod and my mom made me do some history stuff. You?" It's familiar, this routine. It's comforting.

"I tried out for Evita in the local community theater. If those directors know what's best for the show I should have the lead by next week."

"Awesome," he tells her, feeling pride flush through him warmly. "I bet you owned it."

"I did," she says primly, crossing her legs and turning to the rest of the table. "So, Kurt, are we still on for next Saturday? I've been desperately in need of a new skirt and that adorable shop just opened next door to the food court."

"Sure, sure. Who am I to turn down an opportunity to help your wardrobe?"

The waitress comes soon after, and upon Rachel's insistence they split the bill four ways. The employee's grin falters at the necessity of calculations, but eventually all four are out the door of the restaurant and on their way to the Berry household, where they'll be until relatively late (Burt hadn't begrudged Finn his blessing to spend the night. Somehow, Finn doesn't blame him).

As he sits in the car, side pressed up against Rachel's, he smiles. The hazy afternoon light is hitting her in a way that brings him back sharply to last summer, when everything was crazy and frantic and there was no way they'd ever work out. Sometimes, memories hit him hard. But they aren't always memories he wants to forget.

…

When they play Scrabble, he gets annihilated, to say the least.

"What kind of a word is Quinoa?" protests Blaine absently, drumming his fingers against the board.

"It's a grain. I had it for lunch in my salad today," Rachel smiles sweetly, writing down the score. Kurt nods his approval thoughtfully, patting Blaine on the arm. "Your turn, Finn!"

He winces. He has no idea what to do with the X he has, and having only one vowel (a U) is causing him issues. The only reason he even agreed to play this game is because of the way Rachel's eyes had sparkled when she'd held it up. "Um…"

Rachel laughs, the sound saccharine as it hits the air, and everyone laughs with her. She can be infectious when she wants to be.

The night ends far too soon for all of them, Rachel having narrowly beaten Kurt and Blaine with the word onomatopoeia, and Finn's eyes widen in shock at the time. He checks again, wondering how in the world it slipped away so fast. He guesses time tends to do that, though; it slips when you're not looking and disappears when you just need it to slow down, just a little bit, just for a moment.

"Kurt…" he starts, "We had to be home ten minutes ago."

The look on his stepbrother's face is so comical it's almost worth being grounded for a week.

Almost.

...

**Reviews are lovely.**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: This chapter kind of took on a life of it's own, and it wouldn't let me be until it was finished. Typically I'd wait until i had something else backed up to post this, but school is starting soon (too soon) and I figured I'd get this and hopefully another chapter out before then. In this chapter you'll find a title drop! Finally! I was starting to feel a total disconnect, but it's all good now. Thanks so much to all who reviewed last chapter. Enjoy!**

When he doesn't answer her third phone call, Rachel's frantic pacing gets harsher. She walks and walks and walks until it feels like she's wearing down the already threadbare carpet, the one she's had since she was a baby, the one her mother picked out. It should say something about Finn, how he's the only one she'd lose a part her mother for, but she doesn't know how to translate it from the incessant, muffled padding of her bare feet.

She lets out a sound halfway between a mutter and a growl, impatience coloring the air, and hits Call so viciously it leaves an imprint on her thumb, a perfect crescent where unmarred skin should be.

'_Hey, it's Finn. I'm not here right now, so leave your number and I'll call you back when I am. Here, I mean. Yeah, um…bye.'_

His mom doesn't reply either, and just when Rachel is about to throw her phone against the wall (she wants to _feel_ it, the hurt and anger and frustration that are threatening to bubble over), it rings in her hand. She flails wildly, ignoring the call by accident in her haste to answer.

She waits five seconds, and then tries calling him back, but the only way she hears his voice is through the tinny, warped recording telling her to leave a message. She's never felt less inclined.

…

_Can you come over?_

The text comes one hour later, and for a moment she feels irrational anger at him. Just as quickly, though, it melts into concern, rushing through her veins as she dreams up countless impossible scenarios. Concern turns to panic, because the last time those words had been sent to her Mr. Hummel had landed in the hospital, and she didn't know what to do when it came to his usually upbeat, if always sarcastic, son. She tried everything to cheer him up, and maybe it's foolish but she stayed in denial, trying to make things normal if only for a night. Chick flicks and ice cream could only go so far.

She wonders again why he texted rather return her calls, and something ludicrous jumps out at her with just enough force to seem plausible.

_I'll be there in ten minutes. You aren't deaf, are you?_

_No. What? Why?_

_Just wondering. I'll be over soon._

Feeling properly chastised, Rachel grabs her pea coat and rushes out the door, ignoring the way the wind whips at her. She stumbles on a rock she didn't see, and tears are running down her face before she can even register why. Gritting her teeth, she summons every ounce of determination in her body, and to any innocent passerby the rivers running steeply down the planes of her cheeks would simply look like rain.

…

Three minutes before she arrives at the Hudson household, Rachel pulls over to the side of the road. The neighborhood is quiet this Saturday; the only sound is that of rain pattering on her windshield, leaving spots and trails behind. She's still a bit nervous of what she'll find. Finn hates texting more than he hates cauliflower (_I can't help it, Rach, I just love hearing your voice over the phone. It's real, you know? Texting…isn't)._

She feels guilty and selfish, but she needs a minute to collect herself before walking into that house. She's scared. But Finn has always, always been there for her.

Wiping angrily at her eyes, she pushes her shoulders back and presses on the gas delicately, sending the car (and her stomach) lurching forward.

…

When Carole opens the door, her eyes are too bright and too red, and her omnipresent smile just isn't there.

"What's wrong?" asks Rachel immediately, tugging her coat around herself a little more tightly as if it could help her to stop shivering. But she isn't trembling from the cold and she knows it, they both know it.

"It's a tough day for us." Rachel's eyebrows pull together as she tries to remember frantically, "It's Christopher's birthday."

It takes her a moment to place the name, but within seconds the pieces are falling into place. Oh. _Oh._ Of course Finn's depressed and sad and a little bit scared. It's his father's birthday.

Rachel immediately feels like the most tactless person on the planet. And she hasn't even said anything yet. She just has a paralyzing feeling that the second she opens her mouth something awful will come tumbling out the way it always does, until it's gone and there's nothing in the world that can take it back.

"Finn's in his room, if you'd like to see him."

She just nods mutely, stepping past the woman who's always been so kind to her. She doesn't ask where Kurt and Burt are. Somehow, she knows that they'd be gone today of all days.

"Finn?" she asks timidly, stepping up to the door and rapping sharply with a confidence she doesn't really feel.

His only reply is to open it, eyes dead and empty. She can't help it; she gasps at the sight of him looking so disheveled.

"Thanks," he tells her a little ruefully, running a hand through his hair. She can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not, so she replies with a cautious _you're welcome._

He sighs. "Today's just been kind of rough. I know I never actually knew my dad, but I guess I just miss what he could've been."

"I was the same with my mom," she offers quietly, eyes trained on the ground because she hates it when people see her cry. It makes her vulnerable and she hates it, she hates it. "Missing what she could've been."

He's oblivious as always, tears of his own forming as he makes an admission (though it shouldn't have to be an admission, not to her). "Yeah. It sucks. Usually it's not so bad, especially since I have Burt now, but this morning I actually forgot what day it was. I just walked downstairs and did normal stuff and when I finally heard my mom crying in her room. I felt like such a tool."

"Maybe you aren't forgetting, Finn. Maybe you're just moving on?" She words it like a question, waiting to see how he responds. Today, he doesn't seem as strong or solid or even as substantial as he usually does. It's as if the fading memory of his father is fading him as well; he's becoming a shadow.

"Maybe. I hope so."

She isn't quite sure what to say to that, so she hesitates, the silence stretching into one long strain of _moment_ that she's terrified to break. It lasts a beat too long to be considered natural when Carole tells him he needs to take out the trash. Relieved to have an excuse to unfreeze, he walks out a bit stiffly, throwing a look at her over his shoulder, a silent _aren't you coming? _that she accepts hastily.

When they get outside, they both tighten their coats subconsciously, trying to form a barrier against the wind and rain that have sprung up over the past few days. A cloud puffs around his mouth when he breathes and he crosses his eyes and huffs in an attempt to see another. It's so ridiculous and wildly inappropriate considering the circumstances that she laughs, long and loud, nothing like the laugh that society accepts. She isn't light or dainty or delicate as she throws her head back and her hair off of her shoulder and splutters incoherently about his face and the fog and who knows what; the rain is running in rivulets down her cheeks until she can't tell if she's really crying or not, but she doesn't even care anymore. It doesn't matter because this is so real it _hurts_. These moments are what people live for. These moments are what people rely on to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they're alive.

"Come on," he chuckles, amusement appearing across his features as if a switch had been flipped, "let's get back inside."

She takes his hand and, instead of walking into the house like any sane person, boldly kisses him, right there in the middle of the street, letting her world shrink until the only things that matter are right within reach, surrounding her and filling her and covering her with a sweeping sense of _home_.

…

When they finally manage to stumble through the side door, tripping and giggling and talking over each other, the kitchen feels lighter somehow, darkness having been eaten away by the moment they'd just shared. They're both still grinning stupidly when Carole walks in, obviously surprised pleasantly by the change of the atmosphere surrounding them. When she spots their less than put together appearances, she smiles briefly before beginning to give orders.

"Go on upstairs, Finn lend Rachel a shirt, will you? You'll both freeze in those clothes."

"Th-thank you," attempts Rachel, but Finn's already pulling her up to his room and grabbing a shirt that will undoubtedly hang to her knees, practically shoving her into the bathroom with it.

She peels her sopping clothes off unceremoniously while grabbing a towel from the rack to her left. It's soft, reminding her of the time her dad tried to do the laundry when she was small. The towels had ended up ruined (she secretly liked the pink), but the biggest thing she remembers is going to buy new ones, jumping on beds and getting yelled at but not even caring, that feeling of reckless abandon filling her to the brim until it spilled over into chaos.

She misses it, the insanity that makes perfect sense, the incredibleness of an everyday act, the swelling of the heart that pairs perfectly with the pain of a too-bright grin.

When she steps out of the bathroom and onto the plush, warm carpet, she's still smiling.

…

Thirty minutes later, she's convinced him to return the kitchen. She grabs a sheet of paper from the counter and a pen and starts writing feverishly, making sure she's left nothing out. He looks on curiously but doesn't comment.

"Do you have all of these?" She lifts up the paper, revealing its contents to be a list of ingredients. "I was thinking we could make lemon tarts. They're actually my mom's recipe, I got them from her when we were trying to…Anyways, I memorized and photocopied the recipe and I was thinking we could try it."

"You know I can't cook, right?" he asks warily, turning to the appliances as if they can hear him, "I burn frozen dinners. I didn't even know that was possible until one exploded in our microwave."

She knows a manic glint lights up her eyes when she says, "Well, I'll just have to teach you, then."

When she pulls out the grater to zest the lemon, he swallows audibly and takes two steps back.

…

Two hours, one botched batter, two burned fingers, and a very ruined shirt later, three tarts have been successfully made. They eat two of them, the bite of the lemon jolting and electric, and then bring the final one to Finn's mother. When they present it joyfully, it's as if they're both her children, sneaking around on a rainy day to create something worth being proud of. Carole tears up and eats it slowly, smiling as she does so.

They're a bit too heavy on the sugar and the crust is too flaky, but none of that matters when he looks into her eyes and says it again, _thank you_, but this time it's sincere and intense and burning.

When she says _anytime, _she means it with everything she has to give.

The rain keeps pouring incessantly, pattering on the rooftop and the ground and the windows of her car, full of constant reminders of the day. Even so, it isn't until her dad smiles faintly and asks _where are your clothes?_ that she realizes she's still wearing Finn's Iron Maiden shirt, egg yolk stain and all. Irrationally, she grins.

"They got a little bit wet," she says mysteriously, "Finn and I took out the trash." And the explanation is so horribly inaccurate that she's laughing again, the sound bouncing off the walls and echoing until it dies off.

Later, when she's lying in bed staring at the ceiling listening to the rain, she swears she can still hear wisps of it, smooth as smoke in the soundproofed room that will never hear a sound like it again.

**Review? :)**


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: Yay! Chapter 6 has been posted! School has been hectic lately, and I'm sick, and yesterday was the worst day I've had in years, but I'm really, really happy to be getting this out. Hopefully you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'd love to hear feedback, so please, please drop a line! :)  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee**

Two years ago, Finn met a girl. She talks too much and laughs too loud and her style of speaking verges on pedantic at times. Her nose is a little bit big and her personality is even bigger. She'll tell you what she thinks and she'll say it to your face, whether she has an audience or not. She manages to be perceptive and oblivious at the exact same time, and she's absolutely terrifying.

When she goes to bed, she wears T-shirts that hang to her knees, and her routine is perfected to the minute. Whenever he puts too much salt on his food (which happens more than he'd ever tell her), she isn't afraid to take the plate and dump it in the trashcan, laughing the entire way like some fallen angel. She's totally unabashed of being who she is and she's one of the bravest, bravest people he's met in his entire life. Her voice is breathtaking.

He'd never, ever known anyone like her.

Two years ago, Finn thought that maybe he could learn to love her. Maybe he could look past every wall she put(s) up. Maybe she'd let him in, just for a moment, and maybe he could learn to do the same.

People say you never forget your first love. (Love, love, _love. _Some days he wishes it were Quinn. Others, he couldn't disagree more.) People say you love them forever. People say that you'll follow them to ends of the earth, and people say you only love them once, but Finn doesn't care what people say.

There's no way he could forget Rachel.

And he knows somewhere in his heart that he never will.

…

"Do you ever dream _big_, Finn?" she asks in a hushed, awed whisper one lazy Sunday afternoon, kicking her feet into the air from where she's lying on the couch. The sun is starting to set and she'll have to go home soon, but for now they're perfectly content to act as if this moment will stretch and stretch until it never ends. Maybe it won't.

"I guess," he lies, tone casual but heart racing. He's honestly never dreamed any bigger than a future with her.

"I mean _really_ big. World-famous, rockstar, astronaut, princess big."

He chokes on his laugh. "I've never dreamed about being a princess," he manages to force out, grateful to find a reason not to answer the implied question.

"You know what I mean," she rolls her eyes, "When I was little, I was absolutely sure I'd be famous one day." Her tone quiets the way it always does when she tells the truth. "I never really believed it until I met you, though."

He's startled enough that he needs to collect himself. He's never been more thankful to be on the opposite end of the room from Rachel. It should make him feel guilty, but right now all he can feel is pure blind _what do I say _and _how can I top that_ and _why, why, __**why**__ does she always do this?_ She idolizes him and glorifies him until he's some big-shot hero, and he's just waiting for her to realize that he's not (and he never was).

"Rach," he starts gently, scared of having to tear himself down off of this pedestal but even more terrified to stay on it.

"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted to say thanks, I guess. But what were _your_ dreams? Fireman? Quarterback? Superhero?"

"Rachel," he says, more firmly this time. Panic bubbles up because if he doesn't say this now, when will he? How can he?

"I bet it was a superhero; you always were trying to be all selfless and do the right-"

"I'm not a superhero!" It comes out more angrily than he intends, and when he hears her pointed silence it hits him somewhere behind the bravado that maybe she idolizes him because to her, he's someone worth believing in.

"How astute," she comments offhandedly, hurt evident in her voice, though she'd never admit it. This is what she does; she masks hurt and pain and embarrassment with long words and flippant tones, as if she's building a wall around herself.

Sometimes, he hates her for it.

He takes a deep breath, chest curving outwards in perfect time to the drumming of his fingers on the side of his chair. He's fidgety when he he's nervous, he always has been; when Burt was in the hospital Kurt would say _Finn Hudson, if you don't stop that this instant, I swear-_ and the thought fills him with the urge to laugh. He squashes it quickly, trying to explain himself. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just- you always act like I'm some perfect guy who can do no wrong, but that's not true. It's not true at all. And I try so hard not to disappoint you, but it's so much pressure, Rach, you have to understand. I don't think I can do it anymore."

In response, she props herself up on one elbow, turning to face him halfway. At that angle, the light bounces off of her hair and creates a halo that doesn't fit with the words coming out of her mouth.

"I don't think you're perfect, Finn. Actually, I think you're far from it. But isn't that what love is supposed to be about? Loving someone _because_ of their imperfections?"

He looks down, blinks, looks back up. "Sometimes, I think you're perfect. Other times, I think I might hate you." He doesn't know where he was going with that, but the statements feel right. They need to say this. They need to.

She nods once, curtly, head bobbing too harshly to be considered thoughtful. "I know we-" She's cut off by the ringing of her own phone.

"Hello?"

"Yes, I'm still at Finn's."

"Well then you should have told me before you signed me up, shouldn't you?"

She presses her lips together tightly before continuing. "Fine. I'll be there in ten."

A sigh. "Yes, dad, I love you too."

To Finn: "I have to go, my dad signed me up for youth ministry at temple. As much as I love to help children fulfill their lives, I wish he'd told me before. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow."

And with that, she gathers her bag in her arms and hurries out the door without a backwards glance. It's her usual mode of exit, but he still feels a sting behind his eyes when the door slams shut, echoing harshly through the house like the shot of a gun, and all he can think about are the last words to come from his mouth before she left.

"I hate you."

…

He paces. And paces. And paces.

He walks up and down the stairs and around the house and out to the front yard. The second his feet hit the paved sidewalk he breaks into a frenzied, paceless run, letting his shoes smack against the ground and jar his teeth in a way that really shouldn't feel so satisfying. The sun is beating down on his skin and a bead of sweat forms on his brow. He brushes it off harshly, sharply, all the while ignoring the way his breathing is turning ragged and his legs are burning. He loves and he hates it and he can't stop, he won't stop.

When he ends up back at his own front door, panting with his hands on his knees as he tries to regain his breath, he turns around and runs the three-mile circuit again.

…

He wakes up two minutes before his alarm clock, savoring the warmth of his bed for just a while longer before he has to face the day. Before he has to paste on a half-smile that absolutely _everyone_ will see through. Before he has to deal with dashed hopes and expectations and his future. What happened to living in the moment? Going with the flow? He guesses that it doesn't apply with people like him.

Sometimes, he hates himself. Sometimes, he wishes he could be someone else for once. He isn't sure he can handle the pressure everyone puts him under. Rachel, Rachel does things with grace, elegance, beauty. She doesn't crack.

He's terrified that if this goes on for much longer, he will.

...

"Hi this is Rachel Berry's personal cell phone. If you'd like to contact me about a musical or other job opportunity, press 1. If you'd like to leave a message regarding my personal life, press 2. If you'd like to leave a hate message, I wouldn't bother. My boyfriend is the captain of the football team. Thanks, bye!"

He fights the urge to smile and groan at the same time, immeasurably relieved at the fact that he's still considered her boyfriend but frustrated that she won't answer him. He never knows what to expect with her. He never has.

(Something tells him he never will, either, and all things considered, that might just be okay).

…

He trudges into school with the gait of a disabled sleepwalker, stumbling over his own feet more than once in his haste to just get through the day. Unlike about ninety five percent of the student population, Mondays aren't typically his least favorite day. There's something about actually getting sleep the night before that jolts him awake, and no matter how much he wants to hate going back to school, he doesn't. Today, though. Today.

"Pass up your homework," drones the middle-aged English teacher, years of dealing with insubordination having aged her more efficiently than time ever could. He rummages through his horribly disorganized bag (Rachel tried to go through it with him once. It's the only time he can ever remember her giving up on something), and pulls out a sheet that is, surprisingly, in perfect condition.

He turns to page fourteen, trailing a finger along the page idly as illiterate after illiterate stumbles through words she'd scoff at, and realizes with an ache in his chest and the clarity of hindsight that he's never hated her (and he never could).

He hates the person he's let himself become on that rare occasion he actually regrets. He supposes it's give-and-take, though, because he's never loved himself more than when he told her _I love you_.

…

There's a girl walking down these achingly familiar halls. A girl with books bundled in her arms and a light in her eyes and a song in her heart that aches to be released. There's a girl walking down these halls, and she doesn't know it, but she's loved. There's a girl turning a corner, a girl getting hit with a wall of ice that threatens to crack her deep blue, solid gold composure. She won't let it crack, though. She never has (at least, not unless it comes to _him_). She smiles too brightly instead, thanks the idiot, and rushes to the bathroom before anyone else can see.

There's a girl hiding in a bathroom stall, crying, but no one knows; no one will ever know. And when she walks out, into the halls once again, she's stronger than she was before, her head is higher than it was before, her eyes are clearer than they were before. There's a girl walking down these halls, drenched in sunlight on this sunless day, and she's going somewhere. (She's _going_ somewhere).

There's a girl sitting in a classroom that might as well be empty, twirling her hair around her finger, thinking about a boy that will inevitably break her heart.

She doesn't know it, but she's loved.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Millions of apologies for the lateness of this chapter. School has been on my behind for the past few weeks and soccer has been insane. Hopefully people are still reading this story? Don't worry if you are, I promise not to abandon it. **

**I present to you, faithful reader, Chapter 7, in which one can find: Plenty of Berry crazy, some introspective Rachel, some patient Finn, and some very confused Klaine.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee**

...

Sometimes, when she's sitting at her vanity and the glow of her lamp feels like a spotlight and the mirror could be a stage and the air is alive with magic; sometimes, even when she knows it's wrong to hope lest you be crushed, sometimes she dreams. And oh, can she dream. It's what her life is based upon: moments upon moments balanced precariously on swaying towers of dreams and wishes and unanswered prayers. Sometimes she thinks she'll break.

Sometimes, she does.

…

"Are you sure you can make it?" she asks again, handing him yet another program (it's his fourth) from her never-ending stack, pressed and ready in her pocket in case someone wants an autograph. After seeing her performance, she's sure they will. (Who wouldn't?)

"Yes Rachel, I'm positive. I bought my ticket two weeks ago, front and center, and I'll be taping the whole thing. We can watch it after," he smiles, broad and goofy and a bit far away, and seeing Finn say that that feels so domestic and comfortable in a way that Finn-from-last-year never could have achieved.

She grins back up at him, smile curving into her eyes and the way her shoulders contract the littlest bit, and she's transported to easier, freer days, when singing was just fun and no one judged her. She feels younger when she's with Finn; one would think it has a lot to do with his height, but she thinks it's more than that. It's much more than that. It has to be.

"I knew I'd get the part," she tells him breezily, startling herself out of the reverie she'd fallen into. "My voice is eerily similar to that of Madonna in the movie, especially in the first bit."

"I knew you'd get it, too. You deserve every single part in this world. Except for the guy ones," he reconsiders, "And the ones for old people. And-"

"And any that wouldn't be within my abilities?" she cuts off smoothly, and if his grateful laugh means anything he's happy that his ramble was cut short. He nods. She understands him; she gets what he's trying to say, she always does.

"Exactly."

…

When she sees the head of dark brown hair she's looking for (the one that's so put together she can see her own reflection in it), she doesn't hesitate to march through the door towards the kitchen. Step by step, she approaches his slight form like a lioness towards her prey, and when she flashes a megawatt smile and makes eye contact, he looks behind him, line of sight interrupted by the wall, before accepting the fact that he's going to have to talk to her whether he likes it or not.

"Hi!" she beams, letting her voice rise just the slightest bit higher than it usually does. He looks a bit alarmed, so she takes a short, awkward step back, waiting for him to speak before she moves on.

"Hey, Rachel," he replies, sounding a bit confused but gentlemanly all the same. Something tells her that he'd rather cut off his own arm than appear rude in public, even if it is a potentially awkward situation.

"How have you been?" she decides to ask, relaxing her stiff posture. It hadn't been within her plans to make small talk, but when has anything ever gone according to plan?

She leans back against the counter while he fixes his bow tie and randomly wonders why they don't run into each other more often, what with Finn and Kurt living in the same house. Her fingers curl around a whisk that had been sitting out and she toys with it, not missing the way Blaine's eyes follow her actions.

"I've been great. You?"

"I've been fantastic!" It isn't even a lie, and for that she's grateful.

Still a bit wary, Blaine informs her that "I think Finn's upstairs, I was just waiting for Kur-"

"Oh no, I wanted to talk to _you_, Blaine." (She shouldn't be this good at interrupting people, she knows she shouldn't), "I'm aware that our friendship has been…strained, to say the least, but I really wanted a fresh start." She takes a deep breath, blinks, and lets all traces of recognition drain from her features the way she'd practiced. "Hi, I'm Rachel Barbra Berry. I was born to be on Broadway and I can hit notes that shatter glass. My boyfriend is upstairs, probably doing something less than educational. And you are…?"

He's trying not to smile, she can tell, and that realization gives her the confidence to stick her hand out, all business, and shake his larger, slightly calloused one firmly. "Blaine Anderson," he introduces, "I'm sixteen, I love music, and I'm 100% gay," he finishes, now fully grinning.

"It's a pleasure," she laughs.

"Indeed," he says, failing to keep a straight face.

"What in the world is going on in here?" asks a voice that previously had not been involved in the conversation. They both turn quickly, startled, to see Kurt leaning against the doorframe, looking absolutely bemused at the scene playing out before him. Two non-residents standing in his kitchen, reintroducing themselves to one another even though they've known each other for months now.

"I just met your boyfriend," Rachel informs him, taking the initiative. "He seems very nice," she adds.

"I honestly have no idea what to say to that. Blaine?" He turns to his boyfriend, waiting for someone to make sense of this madness.

"We're starting fresh," he explains easily.

Comprehension, mixed with another emotion (it's fleeting, but it's frightening at the same time, and she wishes she could place it) flits across his face, and he settles on a smirk. It's only later, much later, that she manages to place the nearly invisible grimace as fear. It takes her even longer to figure out why it's there in the first place.

"Sorry, Rachel. This time, he's mine."

She looks to Blaine, only to find his neck flushing red and a pleased smile on his face as he looks at his boyfriend.

Speaking of boyfriends…

With a quick goodbye (because really, it was only a matter of seconds before they started kissing anyways), she darts down the stairs, laughing silently when she sees Finn lying on the ground, controller balanced on his chest as he feverishly presses buttons.

"Giving up homework again?" she teases lightly, remembering all of the previous times he'd attempted to do just that.

He starts, game quickly shifting to pause while he props himself up on an arm. He grins when he sees her, smile spreading crookedly across his features. It's that smile she always comes back to; there's something about the earnest _goodness_ she can feel emanating from it, as if his entire soul is laid out in front of her to pick apart.

"Hey, I thought I heard you downstairs. Excited for tomorrow?"

"Don't remind me. I'm extremely excited, but I'm also terrified." She's never told anyone this, never lent herself to vulnerability. It feels oddly courageous. "What if I'm not good enough, Finn? What if I don't make it any farther than this, than a community show in a small town in Ohio?"

"Rach," he says, and his tone is more fervent now, "of _course_ you're good enough. You've known you were good enough since…forever."

"I know I'm confident. It's just who I am. But have you ever stopped to think about how many people would _love_ to see me fail? I just…I don't know if I want to wait for the I-told-you-so to come out of anyone's mouth." Her voice is small now, barely reaching Finn, but he's hanging on her every word. Tears are welling up as she speaks. "I should just call in sick, the understudy would be thrilled about that."

"You're not calling in sick."

"Yes, I am." She starts to take out her phone, but Finn's hand on her wrist is enough to stop her. She looks up, and he's looking right at her, eyes burning.

"You're so much better than that Rachel. What happened to the girl who doesn't care what other people think? Huh? Where's she? Because that's the girl I fell in love with. The girl I fell in love with would prove every single one of those haters wrong and then some. You said yourself it's lonely at the top. But you don't have to be lonely unless you make yourself lonely. Come on." He's getting to her, he is, and she can feel every bit of affection and love she's ever had for this boy rise up at once. "Go to that show tomorrow and knock their socks off. I bought a front-row ticket and I expect to see my money's worth."

She laughs at that, sound marred by the thickness in her throat. A sliver of light slides through the window, slipping over her for a brief moment before it's covered by a cloud again. The room flashes, then quiets, and the only sound is that of her stilted breathing. After a moment that stretches and stretches until it's barely a thread, she finds her voice.

"That audience won't know what hit them."

…

Winter in Lima is one of the only things she'll ever admit to loving about the town. The snow falls in crystals and when it finally rests, one flake piling on a million more, it sparkles with the delicacy of china, fragile and effervescent like sugar on her tongue, sweet and slipping away before she has the chance to appreciate it properly. There's something thrilling about the chill in the wind, something stunning about the shades of grey that could be stone resting in the sky.

Sometimes, when it's barely dawn and she really should be getting on her elliptical, she steps outside. She shivers spasmodically, harshly, but sometimes she just stands in the snow and breathes air that's never felt so cool or crisp or sweet. It's peaceful out there, when the sun's barely shining through a layer of silk and it's still somehow bright; sometimes, she wishes she could stay like that, surrounded by air, and let her worries fall like teardrops from the sky.

It's stunning, she thinks, the beauty of this place that can be so ugly. It's stunning.

…

Flakes are falling gently in the pale light of morning when she wakes up. Honestly, it's difficult to fight the urge to bolt up out of bed, eyes wide, and squeal a bit while her stomach turns. Tonight is opening night.

…

That afternoon in Glee, she's a bundle of nerves.

"Relax," Finn tells her for the umpteenth time, and she's shocked at his patience once again. "You'll do fine." When she looks up at him, worrying her lip between her teeth, his eyes are big and earnest, and she finds her stiff posture loosening the slightest bit.

"I know, I know. It's just such a big deal for me. I've never had a role that actually paid, and it's…it's everything right now."

"Well if it isn't Miss Eva herself," cuts in Mercedes, a hand on her black-denim clad hip as she walks in the door. "You pumped for tonight?"

"Extremely so," Rachel smiles, beam crawling across her face slower than it really should be. She shuts her eyes for a split-second, collecting herself. _Come on, Berry, you're a better actress than that and you know it_. "I've been waiting to prove myself to the community for too long."

When Mercedes shakes her head fondly, Rachel sees a strange sense of camaraderie that wasn't there before. It feels incredible, really. Their friendship has always been twisted, based half from competition; it's similar to that of her and Kurt's, in a way, and she's always wanted to get closer to the other girl. She's always a wanted a girlfriend, someone to complain to about her exceedingly testosterone-filled life. When you have two gay dads, a gay best friend, and a boyfriend, it's hard to make time for females.

(Yes, that's how she'll defend herself: she doesn't have _time_. Because her lack of friends certainly isn't for lack of trying.)

…

Deep breaths. In, out. That's it. There's no reason to panic, no reason to fidget, to reason to adjust your wig one last time. You can do this. You won't mess up. You don't need to be nervous, not at all, not for _one second. _Don't let your legs shake. Don't let your breath catch. Don't let your stomach twist.

_You're incredible,_ he'd told you, _I love you. You'll be perfect, and if people think you're not then it's their problem, not yours._

You'd beamed, thanked him, but it was all hollow.

Don't be terrified. Don't be scared. Don't be worried.

You've only been waiting for this moment your entire life.

...

**I hope you enjoyed, don't forget to review, and look out for Chapter 8, coming soon! :)**

**(PS: Which chapter is your favorite so far?)**


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: I could list a million reasons why this chapter didn't come out earlier, but I hat it when author's make excuses so I'll just leave you with my most heartfelt apology and awe towards those of you who are sticking with this story even as updates slow down :) I promise, the next one will be up faster. You have my word.**

**Enjoy!  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee**

If he could remember how to breathe, Finn swears he would be taking in air by the lungful right now, but as it is, he's focusing enough on not dying that everything else seems irrelevant. Rachel –_she's Eva now, that's not Rachel_-, is standing on stage with the presence of an actress in a silent movie, shoulders squared behind her imperiously, and watching her, he swears she could be a queen or a princess; royalty always suited Rachel. The theater is half-full - a decent enough crowd for a small town, low budget, hole-in-the-wall production - and Finn's in the center of it all, video camera recording and emitting a small red light that contains his heart, the swelling matching the lilt of her voice; he could get used to this, to watching the girl he loves doing the things she loves. His eyes widen when she spins the last note of the musical's most famous song into gold, vibrant vibrato filling the room and catching the audience in a moment of strange synchronicity: not one sound can be heard, no whisper, no laugh, no babies crying in the wings or frantic mothers trying to hush them.

_She did that,_ he thinks, _that was Rachel, _and all at once he's reminded of why he loves her.

…

There's a gift for her shaking in his hand: not roses, but a dozen sunflowers, and maybe it's foolish but when he saw the bouquet sitting in the display everything else had seemed pointless; he could hear her approving in his head, hear her talking about individuality and its importance though he can't for the life of him remember what words were used. He'd wanted to throw them on the stage the second she'd finished, enthusiasm arcing up over all of his other emotions that had lain at rest, but she and the cast have got meetings and changing and washing to do; who's he to interrupt their perfect theater aesthetic?

Actors and actresses are of a different class from people like Finn, people who trip over their own feet, people who catch hearts without meaning to and then fumble them in inept hands. Sometimes he wonders what it'd be like, to have the confidence of people like Kurt and Rachel, to light up a room with simply his presence. He wonders what it would feel like to absolutely live for the drama of things.

_It's the drama that matters,_ she'd told him. Could he ever learn to agree with her?

Would it be so different? Could he really live that way?

Some days he swears he could, he swears he knows the answers to the millions of questions plaguing him.

Some days, he doesn't.

…

_You were amazing, amazing, amazing_ he thinks the second he sees her, random thoughts popping up unbidden until he feels like he's drowning, he can't breathe. She walks towards him, smiling delicately gracing her features, and her skirt swishes behind her like a pendulum.

"You were amazing," he finally manages to spit out after staring at her for just a moment too long, gaze flowing like liquid from his veins. She steals a glance at his hands and he thrusts the flowers out in front of him.

"These are for you," and he always wished he could be more articulate, because Finn's never been good with words and he never will be. The bouquet stands between them, solid in its unwavering optimism, and she takes the blooms gently, carefully, cradling them against her chest.

"They're beautiful," she says, "Thank you," and that's all.

…

This is Finn and Rachel, curled up on that tattered, navy couch that sinks where they sit; they're watching the screen rapturously, as if looking away for just one second would cause the beauty in front of them to disappear. This is Rachel's head perched delicately on his shoulder, hair spilling over his arm like molten chocolate. She smells like strawberries, he thinks, and nearly misses how ironic this entire situation is.

"You sound like a pro," he tells her, and she giggles a little bit as her on-screen self sings a note so softly and sweetly it could be a whisper.

"For a couple of hours up there, I was."

And it's so _easy_ to see his future laid out in front of him, it's so easy to want whatever is in the far-out look in her eyes for the rest of his life. It's easy to want these things because they're _right there_, he just needs to reach out and grab them.

"I love you," he says quietly, "And I know I don't say it enough, but you're incredible, Rachel."

"I love you, too," she smiles into his collarbone, "but let's save the heartfelt confessions until after the closing scene. This is my favorite part."

…

He wakes up at 6:45, and rolls his eyes angrily at the alarm clock. It isn't due to ring for another fifteen minutes, but he always manages to beat it, every day; he's always awake when it's still dark outside, when all he can see are faint lights, whipping wind, the very feet he stumbles over all the time are just dim shadows beneath him now.

He trudges downstairs, rubbing his eyes. "Morning," he says randomly, hearing someone bustling in the kitchen.

A yawn. "Good morning. I was just about to leave for work. Today we'll be short-staffed."

He yawns back. "I'm about to eat breakfast." He's never been articulate, really, even on the best of days.

Half of a smile graces her face, laugh lines crinkling around her eyes. Every bit of her is familiar. "I'll talk to you later when you're actually awake, all right? Study hard. Love you," she reminds him with a kiss to his cheek as she bustles towards the entryway.

"Love you, too," he tells her, but the door is already swinging shut.

…

When he walks into Glee, he sees a word on the board, painted across in sharp angles that seem to tear through him. He can't honestly tell if he's feeling fear or excitement or just plain adrenaline, but his heart is beating rabbit-quick and Rachel's beam is almost too much right now. SECTIONALS, read the pink-red letters: the S is smeared and the L is patchy, but the meaning gets across all the same.

Mr. Schue steps out from his usual place behind the piano and claps his hands together enthusiastically. "Guys, we have two weeks until our first competition of the year. Our set-list is planned, we have a rough idea of choreography, and I've never been more proud of you guys for pulling together the way you have been lately."

Rachel smiles to herself next to him, and he can't help but smile back. Mr. Schue begins to review the set-list and what needs improvement, and he settles back into his seat.

He gave up his solo this year to Artie, and when Rachel tells him he needs to be a leader he tells her he's finally starting to figure out what that means.

…

"Let's rehearse," decides Mr. Schue, and Finn steps quietly to the back, harmonizes, and stumbles through choreography that really shouldn't be so difficult.

_Finn_, he hears, _Finn. _It takes him a moment to figure out where the urgent whisper is coming from. _It's easier if you pretend the ground is a trampoline. You have to bounce_. Brittany's nodding seriously, ponytail bobbing behind her in time to music only she can hear, and he follows her advice for once. By then end of the day even Kurt is commenting on his sudden development of a right foot.

It's strange, stepping back for once, and he feels a swell of pride (and a little bit of shame at how new this feeling is).

"I'm proud of you," Rachel tells him, and he doesn't say anything at all.

…

He races through the overcrowded grocery store as fast as he can, dumping item after item on Kurt's never-ending list into the defective shopping cart. He mutters when the wheel catches for the sixth time as he tries to turn and yanks a little too roughly.

This is why he isn't a girl.

The second he completes that thought he can practically hear Rachel berating him for being a sexist pig. _This is for you_, he thinks, and feels less guilty. _I'm doing all of this for you_.

Two more aisles and he's done, tossing the groceries into the trunk carelessly and driving off towards the noonday sun.

_This is for you_, he thinks, and smiles to himself.

…

That night, Kurt teaches him to cook, and Finn remembers why he was hesitant to try in the first place. It's a bit like drowning, he thinks, to attempt things he knows he's terrible at - like his lungs are filling with water every breath he takes, every pinch he drops, every exasperated sigh as Kurt says _I'm trying to be patient, I really am, but shouldn't it be obvious that the shells stay out of the mix? Have you ever eaten eggshells before?_

"No," he says reluctantly, and scraps the batter once again.

…

"I'm sure she'll love them, Finn, stop worrying. If she can find it in her heart to love you…" Finn has to stop the movement of his hand on the spatula then, freezing, because _did Kurt really just go there?_

"Hey! Not cool, man."

"I'm just stating the obvious. Take it how you will."

There's a pause as Finn does, in fact, take it as he wills. It's easy to imagine tomorrow, to imagine seeing her beam light up the room because of him. It's easy to see, but not so easy to hope. He's nervous. He isn't good with words. What if he screws this up, too?

"You think she will, though? She'll like them?"

Kurt's eyes soften uncharacteristically. "She'll love them."

…

In the end, she finds him first, and the surprise should be ruined but it isn't. "Happy anniversary!" she cries, and he winces when half the hallway turns to stare. He feels his neck start to burn but determinedly keeps his gaze steadily in her. "Or, well, sort of anniversary. If you ignore all of the drama with Quinn and Puck and everything, we'd have been dating for about three years today." She looks like a princess then, and he's thought it before but it's just hitting him fully. Her hair is curling softly like so many wisps of smoke and her eyes are so deep he swears he could drown in molten embers. Her chin is high and her shoulders are back, and royalty always suited Rachel. "I thought it was worth remembering, but if not it's fine, I just thought-"

"I know," he interrupts, mouth curving up, because princesses don't get self-conscious. It's now or never, he guesses, so he throws open his locker and takes out the plate of messily decorated cookies.

"Happy anniversary," he says, and her beam is bright enough to make him, illogically, want to shield his eyes.

"Thank you," she breathes, and takes the platter as if it's a newborn child.

"You're welcome," he replies, and she doesn't say anything at all. She doesn't have to.

**Review? :)**


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